


your body told me in a dream it's never been afraid of anything

by diasterisms



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: F/M, Inspired by the TROS Trailer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-12-31 17:33:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21149531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diasterisms/pseuds/diasterisms
Summary: "You look like a drowned puppy," she growls, trying to ignore the way his wet clothes cling to every inch of his muscular form, or how a stray droplet of water beads tantalizingly along his elegant jawline.He smirks. "If you're seeking to distract me with your powers of seduction, I regret to inform you that they leave much to be desired—"She knees him in the stomach.





	your body told me in a dream it's never been afraid of anything

**Author's Note:**

> The trailer killed me. I am dead. It's my ghost writing this.

When he comes to her in the flesh after a year of shared dreams and fleeting connections in the waking world, she thinks it strange that he looks more or less the same. She'd learned not to trust what she sees in the bond after the disastrous way things on Snoke's ship had ended, dashing her hopes and breaking her heart, and several months' worth of rumors, battlefield reports, and intelligence gathering have built up the image of the Supreme Leader in her mind— ruthless, cruel, firmly entrenched in his purpose to destroy the Resistance. She'd expected hardened features, menacing eyes, a cold sneer.

What she sees instead, when he enters the dilapidated throne room of the Death Star and takes off his mask, is the same man who had touched her hand by the firelight, who had told her that she wasn't alone.

She ignites her lightsaber, anyway. The arctic blue beam pierces the shadow-stained air that carries a tang of salt from the surrounding waters, its reflection glinting in his dark irises like shards of sapphire.

"There's no need for that," Kylo Ren says softly. He sounds almost  _amused, _ like he finds it laughable that she thinks he came here to hurt her.

But he is  _already _ hurting her, isn't he? Just the simple fact of his presence, reminding her of what she once wanted— of what she shamefully  _still _ wants, but can never have.

He tosses the obsidian helmet aside. It hits the floor with a metallic thud that echoes through the bowels of the ruined starship; in contrast, his footsteps are barely discernible as he pads toward her, carefully, like he's approaching a wounded animal.

"I'd stop throwing that mask around if I were you," Rey scoffs. "Unless you want to have to glue it back together.  _Again."_

"It's not  _glue." _ Now he sounds slightly offended. "But I didn't come here to discuss—"

"Arts and crafts?"

He stops walking, narrowing his eyes at her. She raises her chin in defiance.

There is a beat of silence, punctuated by the distant roar of high tide.

"Why are  _you _ here?" he finally asks.

And, oh, she shouldn't. Shouldn't fall for old tricks again, especially that gentle way he's looking at her, like he's willing to listen to everything she has to say and not judge her for it. But, for all of Kylo's many flaws, he has always been honest with her— sometimes brutally so, but honest nevertheless. And she always finds herself reciprocating, like a flower perking up when it's watered at last.

"I saw this place— this planet— in a vision. While training," she says, remembering the sun-soaked forest, remembering how she'd  _jumped _ and then found herself somewhere else, found herself  _here, _ scaling the wreckage, climbing higher and higher until she could see the sunken towers, the vast seas, the gray sky. Remembering how it had all turned into the forest again with her next breath, and— "And I... I don't know. I just went."

"In the middle of the day, while your friends were occupied with their tasks," Kylo muses. "On a decommissioned transport pod that no one will miss."

"Get out of my head." It's a tired old refrain. A useless one, too. Neither of them have any control over the bond. It's a small mercy that it had connected them  _after _ she left the Resistance base, so that he saw where she was going but not where she came from.

"Rey." He takes another step, only to halt in his tracks when she raises her lightsaber threateningly. "I don't want to fight."

"Then why did you follow me all the way here?" she snaps before she can think better of it.

She already knows why. She can see it in the way his plush lower lip trembles as he gazes at her. In the way his Adam's apple bobs along the column of his throat as he swallows. It's all the yearning she lives with like a fever on a daily basis, and more.

Which is why it brings her up so short— why it throws her for such a loop— when he quietly confesses, "He told me to come and get you—"

Rey has no idea who  _he _ is. All her primitive, pitiful mind can comprehend is that Kylo has sought her out on someone else's orders, that he is not here to be with her— an epiphany more crushing than she cares to admit. And then logic kicks in and she realizes that, whoever  _he _ is, it can't be anyone good, and her heart breaks all over again.

She'd been so  _stupid._

Kylo has stopped talking. Has gone pale as he registers the sudden spike of anger in her Force signature that she's absolutely certain must also be flashing in her eyes. "Wait—" he falters, "let me explain—"

He starts toward her again and, this time, she moves as well, stepping away from him and deeper into the shadows as she assumes an opening stance. "Don't you  _dare _ come near me!"

"It's not what you think," he grits out, striding inexorably closer, and she—

— raises her free hand, and _shoves—_

At least, she'd  _meant _ for it to be a shove. Just a simple telekinetic blast to knock him off his feet. Instead, all the rage and frustration of the past year boil over, causing her to dig deeper than she'd intended, and what she hurls at him is—

— _lightning—_

The gloomy interior of the Death Star is seared white-hot at the edges as thin, jagged beams of electricity shoot out from Rey's unsuspecting fingers, wrapping around Kylo in lethal coils. Horrified, she doesn't stay to watch him hit the ground. Instead, she spins on her heel, sheathing her lightsaber, and she  _runs._

* * *

**Where the hell did you learn ** _ **that?** _

His voice is in her ear like he's beside her even as she races through the ship's waterlogged corridors. There it is again, that faint thread of amusement rippling through the bond, mixed with something like  _ amazement,  _ the sound layered over the staccato rhythm of her own heartbeat.

"Switch off!" Rey snarls, slicing a rusty panel off its hinges, desperate to escape, to go somewhere where she won't be a danger to anyone but herself.

**I'm fine, by the way.**

"Did I  _ ask?"  _ She lets hostility gather thickly on her tongue, lets it conceal the sheer, excruciating relief that blossoms through her veins at the fact that he's in one piece, that whatever monster residing in her chest hasn't killed him. She clambers out of the makeshift egress she'd carved, and immediately the wind stings her face as it whips the sea into tumultuous waves that glisten almost black in the meager daylight.

A storm is brewing. Rey's standing on a section of the wreckage that, like the throne room, is above sea level, but it doesn't look like it will remain that way for long. The world lurches unsteadily beneath her feet, rocked by the currents, the waves growing taller and taller with each second that ticks by.

The bond  _ hums. _

Whether in welcome or in warning, she doesn't know, but she turns around and waits, lightsaber blazing at her side.

A veritable wall of water crashes over the tarnished durasteel several feet in front of her, catching her in a spray of salt and foam. Kylo emerges from the torrential cascade, dripping wet from head to toe, his scarlet crossguard spinning around his wrist with that telltale flourish that indicates he's preparing to engage in combat— as does the steely glint in his dark eyes.

Rey charges without a second thought. Blue slams against red in a shower of sparks, again and again and again, and then there's a pause for breath as they stare at each other over the glow of their intersected blades.

"You look like a drowned puppy," she growls, trying to ignore the way his wet clothes cling to every inch of his muscular form, or how a stray droplet of water beads tantalizingly along his elegant jawline.

He smirks. "If you're seeking to distract me with your powers of seduction, I regret to inform you that they leave much to be desired—"

She knees him in the stomach. He twists away with a grunt and then she's upon him again in a flurry of blows that drives him to the edge of the hull. And that's when she realizes two things.

One— he's not fighting her. Not really. Most of his movements are pure defense and, when they're not, his strikes lack power, like he's merely putting her through the paces.

And two— there is no possible way he could have caught up with her this fast. Only one corridor leading from the throne room to this deck isn't completely underwater, and it had taken her  _ minutes  _ to traverse it.

"You brought me to you," Kylo says, registering her confusion. "Like you did that night on Ahch-To."

_ "When you promised me I wasn't alone!"  _ Rey yells, bringing down her lightsaber in a slash that he barely manages to dodge— although dodge it he does, sidestepping around her and further away from the churning sea. "But look at me now! I'm  _ still  _ alone!" She pours all her fury into the next offensive and their footwork carries them across the length of the seesawing ground in a treacherous waltz, her lips spewing grievances like she's counting off prayer beads with each sweep of her blade through the salt-wracked air. "I'm surrounded by people who don't understand what it's like— who see me only as their Jedi superweapon— who expect me to be  _ good  _ all the time! You were the one who saw all my fears, my anger, even the ways I lie to myself—" There is a suspicious stinging in her eyes but she blinks it away, determined to shed no more tears for him, and even then— even then, it's somehow still cathartic, screaming into the wind, venting all her darkness on someone who can take it, someone who moves with her and watches her with a gaze that hints at both tenderness and regret. "I  _ trusted  _ you, and you're trying to  _ kill us all—" _

"I'm not." It should be maddening how calm he is, but there's a certain satisfaction derived from it that she can't deny. She feels as if she is the ocean, and he the rock she rages against. "I swear to you, I'm not. Not anymore."

They freeze in blade-lock, straining into each other beneath gathering storm clouds. "Listen to me." Kylo speaks with urgency, opening his mind to her even further to show incontrovertible proof that he's telling the truth. "There is a new threat arising. Palpatine has returned and he wants you— wants  _ us—  _ to join him. He's attempting to gain a foothold into your mind— that's why you saw this planet in your vision, that's why you've been finding it easier to access dark side abilities. He tasked me to bring you to him, so that you could be turned, but I— I'm not going to let that happen. I promise. I followed you here so I could ask you to  _ help me take him down." _

And Rey sees Kylo's memories. The hooded figure on a jagged throne, the flash of golden eyes, the withered hand extended in welcome. "Why did you even seek him out in the first place?" she demands, as curious as she is annoyed. Because— honestly, she may be stupid, but  _ he  _ takes the cake any day of the week.

He shrugs— as much as anyone can shrug when they're blocking a laser sword inches away from their neck. "I sought more knowledge. I sought greater power. But not—" He exhales— "not at the cost of you."

Her heart aches. "Maybe I  _ should  _ join him." She almost doesn't recognize her own voice for how raw and ugly it is. "I don't belong in the Resistance. I don't belong anywhere."

Kylo cocks his head at her. Stars, he really  _ does  _ look like a drowned puppy, his eyes so round and soft even as they reflect a conflagration of red and blue light, his shaggy wet hair plastered to his expressive, angular face. "What if I said," he murmurs, "that you belong with  _ me?" _

She pushes all her weight into their crossed blades, using the lock as leverage to spring away from him. And then they're fighting again— or,  _ she  _ is fighting, while he parries and that great big body of his dances around her. It's freeing, it's an outlet, to not have to think of anything but  _ this.  _ Just him and her and the storm. That's why she howls in frustration when she feels the bond start to fray at the edges; before it can completely sever, though, he does—

—  _ something— _

Something that pulls her back into the throne room of the Death Star, where he is. Something that keeps her there even after their mental link snaps apart.

Something that makes her stay.

* * *

Leaning against the wall, she wraps her arms around herself. Although they are sheltered from the brunt of the wind by the wreckage's hollowed-out bones, the temperature has plummeted, currents of icy air wafting in through the collapsed section of roof. She is exhausted, oddly  _ satiated,  _ buried under a blessed sort of numbness as she watches him dry off, the Force leaching the worst of the water from his skin and hair and clothes. It's a neat trick— it's mesmerizing to observe the liquid droplets cascading off of him in a silvery rain— and it's not until he's only mostly damp that she speaks again.

"All I am to people is a hero," she says bitterly. "They expect me to make the right decisions all the time, to always be strong. And, the thing is, I can't even blame them— we take hope where we can get it, and I am the last Jedi." Her shoulders slump beneath the weight of the burden she's carried for so long. "Sometimes I have doubts. Sometimes I get so blindingly mad that I feel like I'll burn the whole galaxy down. Sometimes it hurts, sometimes I get lonely... but I have to put all of that somewhere else. And even though I have friends who will listen to me, who will do their best to help me— they'll never understand. How can they? How can I even  _ begin  _ to explain to them what it's like to walk with the Force?" She shivers, rubbing her bare arms before tensing up again, all venom and steel. "People think they know me. No one does."

"But I do," Kylo says, gravelly and low as he looks at her unblinking in the half-light. "I've seen your heart as you've seen mine."

"Why not take me to Palpatine, then?" she goads. "Isn't that the only way you and I can be together?"

He's silent for a while, and then he takes one step toward her, and then another. This time, she doesn't move away. The wall's at her back and there's nowhere left to go, and perhaps she's tired of running. "I don't want him to do to you what Snoke did to me," he admits. "I ache to have you by my side, but if that's the only way, you wouldn't be  _ you  _ anymore, and that rather defeats the purpose. Because..." He stops walking. He's close enough to her that she can feel the heat emanating from his frame, close enough that she can reach out and  _ touch.  _ "Because to know you is to love you, Rey," he whispers hoarsely, bowing his head so that the tip of his nose almost brushes against hers. "How can it ever be otherwise?"

Her eyes drift shut.

The first kiss is as light as a feather, just an experimental brush of his lips over hers. The second kiss picks up right where the first left off, deepening, lingering, her arms looping around his neck as he nibbles at her lower lip in silent, almost  _ teasing  _ request.

The third kiss is when she lets him into her mouth, his tongue dipping inside gingerly at first, as if testing the waters, before sweeping along hers in bolder strokes. He tastes like the sea, like starlight, like everything she wanted and can finally,  _ finally  _ have.

The fourth, fifth, and sixth kisses make her toes curl, make her spine arch against the wall, make her moan into his mouth as his large, gloved hands rove down her body with fervent hunger, squeezing her breasts and caressing her waist and thighs while she tangles shaking fingers in his damp hair and her other hand traces the contours of his powerful bicep and his broad chest.

At some point he blindly tears off his gloves. At some point she helps him peel her leggings down past her knees. But she's too drugged up on the taste and heat of him to tell exactly when any of this happens and, in fact— by the time he slides a long, blunt finger into the aching wetness between her legs, she's lost count of how many kisses they've shared.

* * *

It starts to rain.

The sky has darkened considerably, the occasional beat of thunder rolling across the heavens and the constant crash of waves dotting the sea below mingling with each choked, gurgling sigh Rey makes as Kylo gradually works his way inside her. She's come once already, a delicious little orgasm elicited by his clever fingers, and thank the gods for  _ that  _ because he's so big that it's still a tight fit even with her already dripping wet and so  _ relaxed. _

She needs all the help she can get to take him, and he's only too happy to oblige. He'd spun her around to face the wall, so that her palms have something to brace against, and now he's hunched over her, playing with her breasts and dotting sloppy kisses up and down her neck, the barest hint of stubble scraping her sensitive skin. And all the while his thick length burns inside her, painful and pleasurable all at once, knocking the breath from her lungs with each slow and measured thrust.

"I  _ know  _ you," he pants in her ear, his voice ragged around the edges, and she peeks out the corner of her eye to see that his pupils are blown wide with lust. "I know you can  _ take  _ this. I know you'll come  _ again,  _ so beautifully, wrapped around my cock. I know your light and your darkness, and I want it  _ all."  _ His hips snap against her ass and she cries out as he seats himself inside her to the hilt. She can taste him in her  _ throat. _

It's obscene, the wet slap of skin on skin that echoes through the throne room of the Death Star beneath the roar of rain and wind.

It's all-consuming, the inferno that builds in her belly, stoked by each drag of his erection against her inner walls, the frantic flames leaping higher and higher still every time he pinches her nipples through her shirt, every time he sinks his teeth into the column of her throat.

It's just what she needs, to be known, to not have to think about what her place is in all of this, to fall and to have someone there to catch her.

And, when her mind whites out in bliss, when she tips over the edge with a hoarse _ "Ben" _ on her lips like a prayer and he follows, grunting her own name softly into her neck as he fills her with his come— it's her undoing and her resurrection all at once.

* * *

"What happens now?" he asks, after she's pulled her leggings back on and straightened her tunic and buttoned him back up. His lush hair is disheveled, his red lips swollen, his expression a bit dazed, like he can't believe what just happened but is  _ hardly  _ about to complain.

It's endearing. She almost wishes that it weren't; what they're about to do would be so much easier if she wasn't scared of losing him.

But perhaps it's okay to be scared sometimes. Perhaps it's okay to have something to lose, because that also means she has something worth fighting for.

"Now we go to Palpatine," Rey says. "We face him." She summons Kylo's discarded mask from the shadowy corner it had rolled off into and cradles it between her hands, keeping her gaze locked on his all the while. "Together."

He nods, solemn and resolute, bowing slightly so that she can put the mask on him. There is something sacred about this moment, as she helps him don his battle armor while the storm rages outside. Once it's latched into place, she presses her lips to the cold metal over his forehead. Although his face is now obscured from her sight, she can  _ feel  _ him closing his eyes, savoring this ghost of a kiss that is like a benediction. Like grace.

Kylo straightens up, reaching for her hand. "Ready?" he asks, his voice once more that smoky, static-tinged, modulated rasp.

She smiles, lacing her fingers through the gaps between his. "Always."

**Author's Note:**

> _“Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing,  
there is a field. I'll meet you there."___


End file.
